


Satiate

by tastewithouttalent



Series: Half Glass [2]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Epiphanies, Hand Jobs, Hate Sex, Hate to Love, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Rough Oral Sex, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 14:29:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18718951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "As Shizuo pulls at the door Izaya is straightening to stand in the frame of the doorway, dropping his hands to slide into the pockets of his coat as he tips his head to the side and bares the white of his teeth into a smile at Shizuo before him." Izaya drops by for his usual and Shizuo stumbles into an epiphany.





	Satiate

Shizuo isn’t in the mood for this.

He wouldn’t usually complain. Izaya’s visits are sporadic at best, unpredictable and unexpected no matter when that rhythmic rap at Shizuo’s front door announces his arrival, but even when Shizuo growls irritation at the interruption he’s half-hard by the time he gets to the door, his body too well-trained to not respond to the expectation of what inevitably follows close on the sound of that particular knock. Izaya’s smile is always enough to clench frustration into Shizuo’s jaw and tighten his grip until his doorknob creaks protest to the press of his fingers, but the dip of his lashes is too overt an invitation, the slant of his shoulders too inherently intoxicating, and when Izaya lifts his chin to make a suggestion of his mouth Shizuo’s body speaks with the same force it grants his anger to cast hatred into the guise of lust for as long as it takes Shizuo to pin Izaya back against the nearest available surface and fuck him into incoherent exhaustion. It’s never quite satisfying -- Shizuo finds himself jerking off again after Izaya leaves, sometimes twice or even three times more in an effort to satiate the strange ache of want that remains no matter how thoroughly he sates himself -- but the temptation is more than Shizuo can bear to refuse, and there is a relief to it in the moment, to turning the strength and presence of his body to an end other than the destruction that burdens him with such self-hatred. Izaya gives Shizuo that knife-edged grin of his, and raises his eyebrows in lieu of asking for an invitation, and Shizuo gives in, and gives up, surrendering his over-burdened self-restraint in the brief relief of spending his temper into raw heat instead of violence.

But not today. Shizuo is tight-wound on frustration today, bitter with a dark unhappiness that runs deeper even than the resigned self-loathing he usually bears in him. He refused Tom’s suggestion of picking up dinner after work, retreating instead to the cold comfort of a convenience store meal and the shadows of his lonely apartment, and if he has any thought of satisfaction it is only as base relief, the simple friction of his hand dragging over himself to gain what comfort physical release can give him since his mind is so determined to hold to frustration. Even so Shizuo hasn’t decided to take action, has done nothing after finishing dinner other than sitting in his living room and smoking three cigarettes one after another; he’s halfway through the third when the knock against the door comes, too crisp and too clear for him to do anything other than tense in immediate, absolute recognition.

He thinks about not answering. His lights are dimmed, his presence silent; Izaya might not know he’s here, might go away again if Shizuo doesn’t reply. But as he draws another breath of bitter smoke from his cigarette there’s another knock, harder and faster than the first, and then a voice calling through the doorway: _“Open up, Shizu-chan, I know you’re in there”_ in a tone that flexes the premonition of violent temper through all Shizuo’s body. Shizuo turns his head to glare at the door with a force that should be enough to urge Izaya away even without being able to see his expression, but there’s only a breath of hesitation before Izaya continues in that same piercing-bright tone.

 _“You don’t want to leave me alone out here,”_ he calls. _“I came here for one reason and I’m going to get that whether you’re willing to help me or not.”_ There’s a thud against the door to speak to the weight of an arm pressing hard against the support; when Izaya speaks again there’s the purr of amusement under his voice, bright enough that Shizuo can picture the curl of laughter on his lips as if he were standing in front of him. _“I don’t mind talking to you through the door. I just thought you might care a little more about what your neighbors might think, hearing what I have to say.”_

Shizuo stays still, hunched in over the ashtray in front of him as his cigarette burns forgotten at the edge. There’s a long minute of perfect silence, so complete that Shizuo thinks Izaya must believe him truly gone, must think that he’s speaking to a truly empty apartment; but then he speaks again, as loudly as before and with no self-consciousness. _“Well, if you don’t mind everyone hearing. Come on, Shizu-chan, you know you want to let me in, I’m sure you’re as horny as I am. I’ll do all the work for you, just open the door and I’ll be fucking myself on your dick in--”_

“ _Fuck_ ,” Shizuo spits, and lunges up from his table with such speed that his knee catches at the edge and rattles the furniture backwards by several inches, forcefully enough to knock the ashtray back and sending ash scattering across the surface and spilling onto the floor. Shizuo glances to make sure the cigarette is still smouldering itself out against the glass -- it is -- before he turns aside to stride thudding footfalls down the hall to the front door.

Izaya is still speaking as Shizuo reaches for the door handle, purring over words that Shizuo barely hears for the red hazing his vision and clenching in his grip at the handle. He wrenches against the knob, shoving the door open and snapping the latch free of its attachment, hoping on some level that the surprise of the action will leave Izaya to fall back from his lean at the support. But Izaya must have heard him coming, or maybe his reflexes are just too good, because as Shizuo shoves at the door Izaya is straightening to stand aside, dropping his hands to slide into the pockets of his coat as he tips his head to the side and bares the white of his teeth into a smile at Shizuo before him.

“I knew that would get to you,” he says, sounding so immensely self-satisfied Shizuo’s fingers curl to the expectation of a punch without consideration for the metal handle collapsing in under his grip. “Hey there, Shizu-chan.”

“Go away,” Shizuo tells him. “I’m not in the mood.”

Izaya lifts a dark eyebrow. “You sure about that?” He dips his lashes to drop his gaze deliberately to the front of Shizuo’s slacks. “Your dick sure seems to be ready enough.”

“Fuck you,” Shizuo tells him.

“That’s what I’m offering,” Izaya purrs. “Just sex, Shizu-chan, however you want it. Doesn’t that sound more satisfying than jerking yourself off?”

Shizuo growls in the back of his throat in voice of the truth that sex with Izaya leaves him hot as if with a fever, shaky and burning with more want than when they began, as if the friction of Izaya’s skin has infected him to itch in his veins with arousal as overwhelming as the anger that so often grips him. Izaya still smiles as if he understands perfectly, his grin giving way to a laugh that drags down Shizuo’s spine like nails pulling blood in their wake. “You’re free to do whatever you want, of course. I don’t want to get between you and your hand, I know how close you are.” Izaya tips his shoulders forward, leaning in over the opening of Shizuo’s doorframe as he looks up through his lashes at the other. “I was just passing by and thought maybe you’d be up for fucking me senseless.” His hand shifts as he draws it free of his pocket to reach forward; Shizuo doesn’t look down to watch, but he can’t help the grunt of heat that pulls from his throat as Izaya’s fingers press to stroke up against the length of his cock hard inside his slacks. “Feels like I was right, too.”

Shizuo reaches to grab at Izaya’s wrist, to jerk the other’s hand away and shove him back and out of the doorway he’s leaning through. But when his fingers close around Izaya’s wrist Izaya leans in instead of pulling away, tilting forward as if Shizuo is pulling at him, and as Shizuo falls back by a step he realizes he _is_ pulling, that his shoulder is flexing and his wrist is angled and he’s dragging Izaya in after all to urge the edge of that smile and the heat of that body towards him. Shizuo growls, and Izaya’s teeth flash onto a laugh, and they both fall in through the doorway as one, Izaya toppling forward to lean against Shizuo’s chest with no hesitation at all in putting himself so near to the tension of frustration coursing through the other’s body. Shizuo’s hold at Izaya’s wrist falls away, his arm comes around to brace at the other’s waist instead, and as Izaya hums in the back of his throat and lifts an arm to wind around Shizuo’s neck Shizuo pulls at the door to slam it shut again with as much force as he used in wrenching it open.

“Fuck you, Izaya,” Shizuo growls, and shoves to pin Izaya to the flat of the door behind him. “I didn’t want to see you tonight.”

Izaya shrugs. “It’s not always good for you to get what you want,” he says. His mouth is so close to Shizuo’s ear that the sound of his words ruffles the other’s hair. “And I think I can make it worth your while.” His free hand slides in between them, returning to his original motion palming against the heat of Shizuo’s cock; Shizuo can hear the low sound Izaya makes at the feel of him, a huff of breath like a sigh and a groan at once.

“What’s it to be?” Izaya asks, grinding his palm harder against Shizuo as he goes on speaking. “You could take me to bed and fuck me down into your sheets if you wanted. Or we could go to the living room and I could ride you while you lie back and let me do the work.” His hips arc forward against Shizuo’s knee angled between his legs; Shizuo can feel the heat of Izaya’s cock hard against him as his next words strain to want. “You could even grind yourself off against me right here.”

Shizuo jerks his head into a shake. Izaya’s fingers are curling against him, reaching as if to seek out a grip around his shaft even through the barrier of his slacks; the sensation is sunbright along his spine, enough to throw sparks of heat out over his vision, but it will take longer than he wants to spend on this, and anything else will take longer still. He wants Izaya gone, out of his house and out of his life just as soon as he’s tempered the raging edge of need the other has awakened in him against the pliant surrender of Izaya’s body, and when he braces a hand against the door it’s with full intention of keeping it there until he’s shoved Izaya back through the entrance and out into the city streets again.

“No,” Shizuo says, and frees his hold from Izaya’s waist so he can reach and brace his fingers at the back of the other’s neck instead. His grip closes to a vise as he locks his thumb against the tendons at the side of Izaya’s neck. “I know what I want.” His fingers shift, his wrist angles. “On your knees, Izaya-kun.”

Izaya huffs a breathless laugh. “Sure,” he says. “And I’m to expect you’ll suck me off afterwards in turn?”

“Depends on how good you are at it,” Shizuo growls. “You said you’d make it worth my while.” He tightens his grip around the back of Izaya’s neck, just slightly; he hardly notices the difference himself, but Izaya’s head tips back, instinct arching his neck into surrender as he hisses against the force. “Get on your knees.”

“So demanding,” Izaya grates past the strain in his throat. “You really should learn to control your temper, you know, Shizu-chan.” But he’s moving in spite of the bite of his words, sliding his hand to Shizuo’s hip to steady himself as he drops to kneel at the tile of Shizuo’s entryway, and Shizuo is too tight-knotted on frustrated desire to bother with starting the fight Izaya’s words might draw from him at another time. Enough to have Izaya on his knees, his hair loose for the fist Shizuo makes to hold his head back before freeing the other’s neck so he can reach for the front of his slacks. Izaya leaves Shizuo to it, settling his hands to bracket at the other’s hips instead of moving to help him, and when Shizuo drags his fly down so he can free the straining heat of his cock Izaya’s lashes dip to follow the motion of the other coming free of his clothes, shadowing over the taunt of his gaze as he looks to Shizuo’s dick instead of up to meet the other’s attention. Shizuo looks down long enough to close his grip at the base of his shaft to provide support rendered needless by the heat holding him rock-hard with anticipation before he looks back to Izaya’s downcast lashes and fixed attention.

“Open your mouth,” Shizuo demands, and when Izaya parts his lips to obedience Shizuo rocks forward to press the head of his cock into the other’s mouth without giving him time to offer any of the scathing commentary he usually has so quick to hand. Izaya’s lashes flutter, his jaw softens to drop his mouth wider, and Shizuo bucks himself forward to sink his cock into the tension of Izaya’s mouth. Izaya’s tongue catches against him, slick and hot and dragging as the intrusion urges Izaya’s lips wider around it, and Shizuo growls in the back of his throat and lets himself go so he can grab at Izaya’s hair with both hands to lock the other to stillness. Izaya’s hands slide, working for better traction against Shizuo’s hips as the other moves forward into him, but his mouth stays wide, his lips parted to surrender against the intrusion, and when Shizuo pauses to pull back fractionally Izaya makes a sound in the back of his throat and presses his tongue to Shizuo’s length as if to persuade him into staying.

Shizuo gusts an exhale, hard enough that it would be a laugh if he were less tense with frustration; even as it is he finds the corners of his mouth catching on a savage grin as he looks down at Izaya’s head braced between his hands and mouth open around the heat of his cock. “You’re a lot less irritating when you can’t talk.” Shizuo braces a palm at the back of Izaya’s head, pressing to steady the other as he rocks his hips forward to thrust in past Izaya’s lips; Izaya’s tongue works against him, Izaya’s lips shift to press tighter, but if he makes any sound it’s lost to the stifling heat of Shizuo’s desire. Shizuo pulls back by an inch, testing the give of Izaya’s mouth before he snaps his hips forward over the distance again, just to feel the capitulation of Izaya giving way to the demand of his movement. The thought of that alone is enough to tighten his balls up against the base of his shaft and clench his breathing towards a groan as he moves again. “I could almost like you, like this.”

Izaya’s fingers slide at Shizuo’s hips, his lashes lift to give the other the vivid color of his gaze, but he doesn’t try to speak, and when Shizuo thrusts forward again Izaya’s vision flickers out-of-focus, drifting towards heat before he shuts his eyes again and tilts his head back to make an offering of his mouth for Shizuo’s use. Shizuo is quick to take it, leaning in to brace a shoulder against the door as he forces Izaya back to lean against the support beneath him, and when he thrusts forward again his cock fills the whole of Izaya’s mouth, urging over the length of his tongue and threatening the back of his throat. Izaya’s throat works convulsively, flexing over involuntary reaction to the pressure so far in the back of his mouth, but when Shizuo draws back Izaya just turns his head up to a different angle without easing the press of his lips to Shizuo’s length. His throat shifts, his jaw eases, and when Shizuo rocks forward into a deliberately slow thrust his cock only brushes the back of Izaya’s mouth before Izaya’s throat works to urge Shizuo’s length deeper still. Shizuo pushes forward, his hands gone slack at Izaya’s head as he watches himself sink into the other’s mouth; and then his thighs flex, and his hips draw forward, and Izaya’s lips touch to the dark hair curling at the base of his cock. Izaya’s fingers tighten at Shizuo’s hips; his throat works on a swallow Shizuo can feel flexing around him like Izaya’s reflexive motion means to urge his orgasm from him on the spot.

“Fuck,” Shizuo says, more softly than he means to, and then he slides back and out, withdrawing until Izaya can drag a ragged breath through his nose. Even then Izaya doesn’t move to pull away from the weight filling his mouth; he only draws a lungful of air before his arms flex and he rocks his head forward to urge Shizuo deeper into him again. Shizuo’s spine prickles with electricity, his cock aches with the force of arousal in him, and he slides one hand around to the back of Izaya’s head to hold the other still so Shizuo can move forward and fill Izaya’s mouth and throat with the strain of his heat-heavy cock.

Izaya doesn’t protest. His eyes are shut, his hands are tight at Shizuo’s hips; but Shizuo is moving more slowly than usual, and he’s sure he would notice if the grip against him turned to the pain of resistance instead of a desperate attempt at stabilizing dizzy balance. It can hardly be comfortable -- Shizuo can see the strain trembling in Izaya’s jaw, can feel the desire for air tense around him every time he sinks himself into the other’s mouth -- but Izaya’s forehead isn’t creased, his lips aren’t tense. He looks relaxed, instead, his expression softer than Shizuo can ever remember seeing it, as if Shizuo’s pleasure is paralleling his own even with his pants still fastened over the strain of his own arousal. His lashes are heavy at his cheeks, his lips soft against Shizuo’s shaft; even his cheeks are pink, Shizuo realizes as he looks down at the other, the color faint enough to be almost lost to the shadow around them but unmistakable against the pale of Izaya’s skin. Shizuo is using him, making good on a demand for Izaya to pleasure him with no certain promise of satisfaction in kind; this is in no way what Izaya came here asking for, nothing of what he hoped to gain from the evening. And yet his expression is calm, all but glowing, as if the mere fact of Shizuo spending his desire on him is pleasure enough to satisfy every need in him. Shizuo stares at him, his attention tangled in the shadows of Izaya’s lashes even as he rocks his hips forward into another thrust to claim Izaya’s throat and steal the other’s breathing, and before him Izaya’s chin lifts, his lips softening as if to make absolute surrender of his position.

Shizuo can’t look away. His cock is still hard, his body still thrumming with the anxious heat that demands relief, whether at Izaya’s urging or within the familiar press of his own grip, but there is something distracting in Izaya’s face, some softness in his expression so startling that it demands the full force of Shizuo’s thoughts even as instinct flexes his thighs to fuck deeper into Izaya’s mouth. Izaya looks warm, flushed and glowing with heat as Shizuo uses him; even his knees at the floor are tipped open, with no apparent consideration for the arousal visibly pressing to the front of his pants. He has both his arms free, has his use of his hands if he wants to reach down and jerk himself off, to claim some satisfaction at the same time Shizuo takes his own, but he’s not moving except to press his hands closer and tighten his grip against the other’s body. His throat is relaxed, his lips parted to unresisting heat, his expression slack with perfect contentment; but his fingers are digging in hard to Shizuo’s hips, as if desperate to keep the other right where he is, to hold them close together for as long as Izaya can keep them there.

It doesn’t make any sense. Shizuo knows how these interactions go: Izaya arrives unannounced on his doorstep, hot and hard and demanding satisfaction from Shizuo regardless of the other’s mood or willingness. Shizuo never asks why Izaya comes to him, why he doesn’t go elsewhere; he’s always privately suspected Izaya may have a whole host of partners he can choose from, that Shizuo is just one of many and of no greater value than what pleasure his body can bring to Izaya. Izaya has certainly always said so, has claimed as much whenever he is free to speak; but he’s not speaking now, and the look on his face is far absent from the impatient resignation that Shizuo expected to see there, as distant from what Shizuo thought to find as the anxious grip holding to his hips to urge him forward whenever his rhythm stalls. Izaya looks satisfied, sated, like just the press of his lips to Shizuo’s skin is enough to ease whatever ache of need he brought with him through the doorway; as if he came here with the express purpose to kneel at Shizuo’s feet and offer whatever worship Shizuo found himself willing to accept. There is devotion in the weight of his grip, adoration in the soft of his expression, and Shizuo can find no logic for it, can think of no reason for Izaya to be so gentle now when he has only ever been ice before.

But then, that’s not true either, Shizuo realizes as he stares down at Izaya’s shut eyes and dark lashes, as his hands brace against soft hair and Izaya pulls him deeper by lips and tongue and throat together. Izaya has been coming here for months, multiple times a week since they began; and yet every memory Shizuo can find is of Izaya on his knees on a bed, or bent over a counter, or occasionally with his face buried close to Shizuo’s shoulder. Shizuo never sees him any more than he ever kisses him; his focus is always too entirely on physical satisfaction, urged to such uncomplicated clarity by Izaya’s mocking words and ready body. In all the dozens of times they have slept together Shizuo can’t recall ever clearly seeing Izaya’s face; and even the regularity of those memories is illogical, a missed step in the stairs of reason Shizuo had thought utterly fixed. There is no pattern to when Izaya comes to see him, no consistency that Shizuo can find; but often, certainly, much more often than could be explained by convenience alone. Izaya must have a preference for him over any other partner; if he even _has_ any other partners, a fact which Shizuo is suddenly deeply unsure of. It seems more reasonable to think he’s been seeking Shizuo out directly, has been waiting as long as he can stand before capitulating to a desire too great to be restrained; and Shizuo tightens his hold on Izaya’s head to lock the other still as he pulls himself back and entirely free of the other’s mouth in a rush of sudden decision.

Izaya’s breath rasps free from his parted lips, scraped to ragged edges as he empties his lungs and drags a fresh breath into his chest past what must be an aching throat. “What the fuck, Shizu-chan?” He lifts his head, opening his eyes to glare up at Shizuo standing over him; but the anger in his expression gives way as quickly as he looks, because Shizuo is dropping to a knee of his own, landing with unnoticed force at the entryway as he sustains his hold on Izaya’s head between his hands. Izaya’s eyes widen, his forehead creases, but when he tries to flinch back Shizuo’s hold keeps him steady without allowing room for the other to retreat.

“Why are you here?” The question is rougher than Shizuo intends it to be, torn open on the unsatisfied desire in his veins and the intensity of his sudden suspicion. It cannot be, he cannot be right, this must be another one of Izaya’s plots with a resolution Shizuo’s dizzy thoughts can hardly guess at; but Izaya is staring at him, his cheeks flushed on unfeigned heat and his eyes wide with alarm, and Shizuo can’t remember ever seeing Izaya so much as pretend at fear for anyone. “Why did you come to see me, Izaya?”

Izaya closes his mouth hard, as if pressing his lips tight over a secret. The color in his cheeks pales, fading to a bloodless white that he lets Shizuo see for a moment before he dips his lashes in the best retreat he can manage with his head braced between both of Shizuo’s palms. “Did all the blood drain out of your brain when it went to your dick?” he asks, dragging a grin onto his lips and huffing a laugh too weak for Shizuo to clearly hear. “I want to get laid. Even for you that’s not a particularly complex concept to grasp.”

Shizuo growls in the back of his throat. “Why me?”

Izaya does laugh, this time, the sound bursting from him so abruptly it comes out raw and startled. “Are you fucking kidding?” he asks, and lifts his gaze from the floor to meet Shizuo’s gaze full-on. “You really need to hear this again? You have a big goddamn cock, Shizu-chan, and I like it when you fuck me with it, that’s all. Does that make you feel like a real man?”

“That’s not all,” Shizuo says, and Izaya’s smile flickers, fracturing for a moment before he pulls it back into place over his lips. “You wouldn’t be going down on me if you just wanted to get off yourself.”

Izaya rolls his eyes. “It’s an equal exchange,” he says. “You wanted a blowjob, fine, so long as I get to come I don’t fucking care how it happens. Or who it’s with.”

That would be enough to set Shizuo’s jaw, at another time, to tighten his fingers to fists and drive him forward into the temper that urges him to murderous rage or, sometimes, with Izaya, into the kind of vicious, desperate sex that only seems to offer relief in the sound of Izaya’s voice breaking on a moan as he comes. But Shizuo’s staring at Izaya’s face from closer than he’s ever been before, or maybe it’s the pleasure of Izaya’s lips against him still soothing the worst edge of need in him, because his temper doesn’t flare, doesn’t burst into incandescent heat to seize his body and drag him into motion with it. The tension in him tightens down instead, clenching to certainty at his chest as he watches the strain at Izaya’s lips, the flutter of his lashes, even the bloodless pale of his cheeks speaking to the panic he’s almost but not quite perfectly hiding. Shizuo stares at Izaya, seeing him instead of hearing him, reading the details of his expression instead of getting caught in the taunt of his voice, and when he moves it’s to shake his head in a negation sharp on certainty instead of irritation. “You’re a liar.”

Izaya’s lips curve onto a sultry smile. “At last,” he purrs. “I knew you’d make it back to the basics with enough--” and Shizuo drops his hand from Izaya’s head, reaches to press his palm hard against the front of the other’s pants, and Izaya’s words break off cleanly, his lips parting over the shape of a sound that goes unvoiced as his eyes open wide on heat too immediate to be feigned. His hands clench bruise-hard at Shizuo’s hips, his fingernails dig in against the layer of fabric beneath them, and Shizuo pushes harder against him, framing the shape of Izaya’s cock beneath his palm while he fumbles his thumb under the button holding tight at the waistband.

“You want this,” Shizuo says, and it’s not a question even before the words make it well clear of his lips. “It’s not about coming. It’s not about the sex.” The button of Izaya’s pants comes loose and Shizuo catches at the zipper to drag it down so he can push his fingers past loosened cloth and urge against bare skin. “It’s about me.”

Izaya coughs a laugh in the back of his throat. Shizuo can hear the afterimage friction of his cock rasping over the usual smooth of Izaya’s tone. “How self-obsessed do you have to be? I _hate_ you, Shizu-chan, if there were anyone else--” and Shizuo’s fingers find the strain of Izaya’s cock hot beneath them, and Izaya hisses himself into incoherence as Shizuo closes his grip hard around the other’s length under his touch.

“Liar,” Shizuo tells him. “Stop _lying_.”

Izaya shudders an exhale that curves a smile at his lips. “Your interrogation tactics need some work, Shizu-chan,” he manages. “Stop lying or you’ll jerk me off? Not a terribly persuasive way to get me to talk, you know.”

“I don’t need you to talk,” Shizuo says, and pushes his hand against the side of Izaya’s head around and back to cradle the other to stillness in the grip of his fingers. Izaya’s mouth flickers towards a frown, his eyes tighten, but it’s more confusion in his expression than suspicion, and Shizuo is entirely sure of his hold on the other. Shizuo lowers his chin, fixing his gaze on Izaya’s face as he sets his knee firmly against the floor beneath him. “I just need to see your face.” And he pulls up over Izaya, stroking his grip around the other’s cock with motion that is efficient if not elegant.

He doesn’t need elegance anyway. Izaya’s eyes widen at the first motion, the tension in his expression scattered before he has any chance to soften it. His mouth comes open, his head rocks back; but Shizuo has a grip on him, and the involuntary strain in his neck to arc him backwards is stalled still to keep his face in full view of Shizuo’s absolute attention. Izaya’s knee slides at the floor, his weight shifting in an incoherent attempt to get closer to Shizuo’s hold, but Shizuo’s moving without waiting for the encouragement, already working his wrist through another stroke over the cock in his grip before he’s finished watching Izaya’s reaction to the first break over his face. Izaya’s hand drops from Shizuo’s hip, his fingers reaching to clutch at the cuff of Shizuo’s shirt around his wrist, but his hold doesn’t push to force Shizuo back or away, and Shizuo is finding a rhythm for his movement now, urging faster to chase away the mask of Izaya’s composure before it has a chance to finish forming between strokes of his hand.

Shizuo doesn’t say anything. He’s never had the wit or grace to his speech that Izaya so readily musters, that only surging heat is holding back from the other now; he struggles over words, and when he finds them they land with more aggression than he ever intends to put to them. Besides, he doesn’t want to demand answers from Izaya, or at least not answers that Izaya will ever say aloud; so he just keeps his hold to brace Izaya’s head still before him, and he jerks up over the heat of Izaya’s cock, and he drinks in the look on Izaya’s face, as the illusion of composure breaks and forms and breaks again, as the twist of Izaya’s mocking smile and the cut of color at his eyes melt to flushed cheeks and lips parted on breathing fallen to the ragged strain of distraction. His gaze hazes, his eyes lose the crystal-clear force of attention that is all he has ever let Shizuo see in him before, and even when he thinks to shut his eyes to hide the giveaway in his expression the tremble at his mouth and the red spilling over his cheeks and flushing at his lips speaks truth enough. Shizuo holds Izaya still with one hand, and urges sensation through him with the grip of the other, and he watches Izaya’s mask disintegrate before him, until his hold is keeping Izaya upright more than anything else and Izaya has both hands clinging to Shizuo’s arm in a fruitless attempt to keep himself steady. It wouldn’t be enough alone, Shizuo is sure, but with Shizuo’s door at his back and Shizuo’s fingers tight at the back of his head the reflexive tensing in Izaya’s thighs only slides his knees over the floor, and the curve of his spine flexes his body through the air without shifting his position in front of Shizuo’s steady gaze.

The tension gives way before he comes. Izaya’s fingers digging in against Shizuo’s arm ease, his shoulders drop the pressure hunching them towards his ears; even his legs relax, his muscles softening to let his knees angle into such surrender at the floor that Shizuo is reminded of the demands of his own arousal, of the heat swelling his cock just as straining-hard now as when he broke free from Izaya’s lips. But Shizuo doesn’t look down to see himself, and Izaya doesn’t even cast his lashes to make the attempt; Shizuo keeps his gaze fixed on Izaya’s face, and as Izaya goes slack with anticipation in Shizuo’s grip he opens his eyes too, to look back and meet Shizuo’s stare at the end. His eyes are entirely dark, the pupils spilled wide to eclipse all the bleeding sharp that usually comes with his stare; Shizuo wonders if Izaya is seeing him at all, if he’s even aware of the present moment beyond the surges of heat Shizuo is working into him. They stare at each other for a moment, close enough to speak, close enough to touch; and then Shizuo tightens his jaw, and growls in the back of his throat, and jerks up over Izaya with his fingers flexing tight on pressure. Izaya jolts, his response rippling through the whole of his unresisting body as his gaze goes out-of-focus, and Shizuo watches his expression melt into absolute, unstructured heat as Izaya’s cock twitches in his grip with the heat of the other’s orgasm. Izaya’s legs jerk, his lashes dip, his throat quivers, and he’s coming over Shizuo’s fingers and against the support of Shizuo’s hold, all the structure and polish of his existence discarded utterly for this one moment of release. Shizuo stares, shocked to speechlessness, as hard as he has ever been in his life; and he thinks, if he had seen this look on Izaya’s face before, that he would have been in love with him all this time too.

Shizuo goes on staring as Izaya comes, as the first eclipsing waves of pleasure break and give way to shuddering aftershocks, until the last of the throbbing heat has eased from the cock in Shizuo’s unflinching grip. Izaya’s lashes fall shut over his eyes, he breathes out in a rush; Shizuo can see his intention to speak forming in the tension between his brows, in the flex of lips still trembling with the force of the pleasure that so destroyed his composure. His mask is reforming, fitting back into place at his jaw and brow and eyes, until Shizuo thinks that if Izaya’s lashes raise on that scarlet taunt again Shizuo will never be able to find his way back to the fever-hot surrender in the shadows he just glimpsed. Shizuo is afraid to let Izaya go, afraid that easing his grip will let the other slip free and away with the startling speed he has always had in the past, and when Izaya opens his mouth to speak Shizuo acts on an impulse that runs through him in time with the ache of desire laid into the whole of his spine, and leans forward to press his mouth flush against the other’s lips.

Shizuo has never kissed Izaya before. The first time Izaya appeared on his doorstep Shizuo had been too tense on the anticipation of a fight to let his guard down; even after Izaya made his actual intentions abundantly clear, it had been some hours after he left before Shizuo could wrap his head around the simple truth that he had just had sex with Orihara Izaya. Izaya had returned before the insistent arousal that hit Shizuo every time he thought of it had lost any of its edge, and the cut of his smile had held such overt suggestion that they hadn’t made it out of the entryway before Shizuo was groaning relief as he sank himself into the heat of Izaya’s body tight around him. They’ve never managed anything like real foreplay; Izaya is always hard as soon as Shizuo gets the door open for him, and Shizuo finds himself aching arousal the moment he sees the anticipation in the dark of Izaya’s eyes. Izaya has never offered a kiss, and Shizuo never before thought to seek softness against the razor edge of Izaya’s mouth.

Izaya’s mouth isn’t hard, now. His lips are soft-parted on the pleasure that has just quivered through him, his breathing warm and radiant against Shizuo’s mouth as the other leans in, and when Shizuo’s lips find his Izaya’s mouth eases entirely, all the tension in him melting as if it cannot bear the uncertain weight of Shizuo’s mouth on his. Shizuo turns his head to the side, angling to fit himself closer against the give of Izaya’s mouth, and Izaya answers with a sound in the back of his throat that tastes dark and sweet as chocolate on Shizuo’s lips. Shizuo reaches out for it, sliding his tongue past Izaya’s lips without thinking, but Izaya surrenders to that too, opening his mouth wider as his shoulders shift to urge him closer even than what Shizuo’s grip on his head is providing. His tongue finds Shizuo’s, tasting Shizuo’s mouth as immediately as Shizuo finds his own, and Shizuo is leaning forward, lured impossibly closer by the taste of Izaya’s ragged breathing and the friction-heat of Shizuo’s cock lingering at his mouth. Izaya runs up against the wall behind him, pinned there by the tilt of Shizuo’s shoulders, but Shizuo keeps his hand holding at the back of the other’s head to steady Izaya against the work of his tongue and the demand of his mouth as he seeks out the truth of desperate desire Izaya has kept hidden behind his smile for so long. Izaya’s fingers clutch at Shizuo’s shirtfront, curling to a fist at the fabric as Shizuo’s grip flexes and tangles into his hair, and finally Shizuo breaks away, drawing back by inches so he can gasp for air while Izaya pants equal heat over his lips.

“Izaya,” Shizuo says, and is surprised by the sound of his own voice, by the gravel in his throat that turns what has always been a shout of temper into a rumble of desire, heat turned aside into a path he didn’t think it could take. His hand shifts at Izaya’s head to tighten at the back of the other’s neck. “I want you.”

Izaya’s eyes are shut, his expression slack of any of the tension he usually forms into such unreadability. He tips his head forward at Shizuo’s words, casting his features into shadow before he huffs an exhale that curves his lips with a brief flicker of a smile. “Are you just realizing this now?” His lashes lift, his gaze comes up through them; Shizuo can’t see any color around the dark that’s eclipsed the edge of Izaya’s gaze. “I’d think the boner you were pushing down my throat a few minutes ago would have tipped you off.”

Shizuo shakes his head in lieu of answering this particular taunt. “I’m going to take you to the bedroom.”

“A romantic,” Izaya manages. “You don’t need to worry about me, Shizu-chan, I’m not expecting any particular consideration from you.”

“I know,” Shizuo says, and reaches to push the support of his arm under Izaya’s knees. Izaya grabs for Shizuo’s neck, startled into a reaction by the pull against his weight, but Shizuo is getting to his feet before Izaya has a grip on him, sure in his own hold on the other even if Izaya isn’t. Izaya presses against his chest, held there by Shizuo’s grip as much as his own, and Shizuo turns to move to the bedroom, kicking against the door to urge it open without letting his hold on Izaya ease. The room is dark with the light off, dimly lit only by the spill of illumination from the open door; Shizuo drops Izaya to the bed, leaving him to sprawl across the sheets before he reaches to pull the cord on the light and flood the room with brightness. Izaya flinches from the sudden illumination, his hand coming up to shadow his face from the abrupt intensity, and Shizuo presses a knee to the end of the bed to steady himself while he pulls off first one and then the other of Izaya’s shoes to drop unceremoniously to the floor. His pants come next; with the fly already open all Shizuo has to do is close his hold at the fabric and tug hard enough to strip the clinging dark free of Izaya’s legs. Izaya huffs a breath at the friction and the force enough to slide him down the bed by a span of inches, but he doesn’t move to sit up or retreat, even as Shizuo brings his other knee onto the bed so he can lean over Izaya and grip at the hem of the other’s shirt.

“You don’t need to go to this trouble,” Izaya says as he lifts his arms up over his head to ease Shizuo stripping him. “It’s not like I have to be naked for you to fuck me.”

“I know,” Shizuo says, and tugs to invert Izaya’s shirt over his head and strip it free of the dark of his hair. Izaya emerges with cheeks flushed and hair tangled, his eyes still impossibly dark and mouth still soft on the heat Shizuo watched break over his face as he came. Shizuo wonders if Izaya even knows how open his expression is, how desperate he looks even with his last orgasm still sticky on his stomach and against Shizuo’s fingers. “I want to be able to see you.” Izaya’s forehead creases, his expression tightening on wary suspicion, but Shizuo draws away without waiting to see what kind of excuse Izaya is going to try to offer for the longing clear in every line of his body. Izaya’s shirt is tossed to the floor, forgotten as quickly as his pants, and Shizuo turns to move towards the dresser in the corner as he unfastens the collar of his shirt one-handed. He has the front undone by the time he’s pulling open the drawer for the lube he only ever makes use of with Izaya, shrugs his shirt free to fall to the floor before he reaches to claim the bottle, and he undoes his belt and the button on his still-unzipped pants so he can drop them and step free before turning back to the bed, where Izaya is propped up on an elbow to watch him with that dark heat still liquid in his eyes.

Shizuo doesn’t know how he missed seeing it before. It must have been there all this time, there’s no way even Izaya could hide something so clearly overwhelming to him; but all Shizuo’s memories draw up are moans muffled by the press of Izaya’s face to the sheets, the slant of pale shoulders angling away from him, the heat of breathing stifled at his shoulder. Izaya has never let Shizuo see his face when they’re together, has never given Shizuo a glimpse of the undone want that has drawn him here over and over again for all the weeks they have been doing this, and Shizuo can’t decide if he feels more guilty that he didn’t notice or angry that Izaya kept this from him, along with everything else. It doesn’t make a difference in the moment, anyway; whichever feeling is uppermost, both are in agreement about the necessary next steps. Shizuo tosses the bottle onto the bed alongside Izaya’s hip, in easy reach of the other’s grasp if he wants it, and pulls the hem of his undershirt up off his chest to strip himself free of the last of his clothing. His boxers follow, the waistband catching at the weight of his heat-full cock before he drags the fabric loose, and Shizuo kicks them free so he can step back over the distance to the bed with nothing between his skin and Izaya’s but open air. Izaya’s gaze follows the movement of Shizuo’s clothing, catching and holding to the length of his cock as the other approaches, so he doesn’t see Shizuo watching his lashes dip and his throat work before he speaks in an approximation of a level tone.

“I’m surprised you had this much patience to begin with,” Izaya says, speaking without lifting his gaze from Shizuo’s hips. “You don’t have to bother with all this, you know. You got me off already, I’m happy to let you fuck my mouth and be done with it.”

Shizuo shakes his head. “No.” The bed shifts as his knee presses to it and Izaya has to drop a hand to the sheets to steady himself as he looks up to meet Shizuo’s gaze. “I want you like this.” Shizuo lifts his hand to Izaya’s shoulder to push the other backwards; he’s hardly pressing at all, but Izaya falls like he’s taken a blow to the chest to drop him to the sheets on his back and staring up at Shizuo like he’s never seen him before. Shizuo leans in to follow, keeping his fingers against Izaya’s skin as he draws up to cradle the back of the other’s neck. “I want to see the way you look when I’m inside you.”

Izaya’s cheeks darken, collecting color to flush him pink all across the arch of his cheekbones. He presses his lips tight together and tips his head like he’s thinking of looking away. “You really sound like a pervert now, Shizu-chan. What’s there to see?”

“You.” Shizuo looks away from Izaya’s face so he can fumble for the bottle of lube against the sheets, but in spite of Izaya’s protests he’s already twisting the lid of the bottle open in expectation of Shizuo’s outstretched fingers. Shizuo makes a cup of his palm to catch the wet Izaya spills over his hand, pooling it against his skin before tipping to let it slide slick across his fingers, and Izaya twists the cap back into place as Shizuo shifts his position on the bed so he’s kneeling over one of Izaya’s legs and braced steady over Izaya beneath him. Izaya’s face is still flushed, his lips still tight, but he tips his knee open into overt invitation before Shizuo moves, and when Shizuo touches wet against him he finds Izaya soft to the touch, relaxing for him even before he urges up and into him. Izaya makes a sound in the back of his throat as Shizuo thrusts into him with a finger, but it’s too faint for Shizuo to tell it as a whimper or a moan, and when Shizuo looks up from his hand to see Izaya’s face Izaya has his eyes shut again and his mouth pressed close around whatever giveaway sound his throat might offer. Shizuo looks at him for a moment, seeing the pink at his cheeks, and the tension in his throat, and the flutter of his pulse rushing fast at the side of his neck, and then he takes a breath, and he speaks, fitting his words to the pace of his touch stroking up and into the grip of Izaya’s body around him.

“You’ve been coming here for weeks.” Izaya huffs a breath and turns his head aside, as if seeking the shadow of the blankets beneath them, but Shizuo still has his grip at the back of the other’s neck, and with Izaya’s shoulders pressing to the bed there is no way for him to disguise the heat on his cheeks with shadow. “Just for sex, you said.” Shizuo’s touch works deep, he sinks the full length of his finger inside Izaya, and Izaya’s lashes flutter as his throat strains over something unvoiced. “You said you just wanted to get laid.”

Izaya huffs. “I did,” he says. “I do. There’s no need to make this all complicated, Shizu-chan.”

“There’s not,” Shizuo snaps, agreement instant and ready at his lips. “You could have picked anyone. It wouldn’t have been hard to find a willing partner, not looking like you do.”

Izaya’s forehead creases, the corner of his mouth curls up. “Was that a compliment?” Shizuo draws his touch back and Izaya slides his knee higher on the sheets, angling his thighs open into overt invitation for Shizuo to press another finger in to urge against his entrance. “Do you think I’m pretty, Shizu-chan?”

“Of course I do,” Shizuo growls. “You’re beautiful, Izaya.” Izaya’s teasing smile melts, his gaze flickers to Shizuo’s face, and Shizuo pushes up to thrust into him before the shock in Izaya’s stare has time to harden to self-defensive aggression. “You could be with anyone you wanted.” Shizuo draws back, sliding his fingers out of Izaya by an inch so he can take the full length of his next motion into the other and feel the way Izaya tightens around the pressure inside him. “Why did you come to me?”

“Come on, Shizu-chan,” Izaya manages without lifting his head from the sideways angle he’s fallen into or looking away from the focused attention he’s giving to Shizuo’s bedroom wall. “You know I’m good-looking, you can’t pretend you don’t know how you look.”

“Sure,” Shizuo says. “And you hate me.”

Izaya’s mouth tightens towards a frown and he shuts his eyes entirely. “Hate and desire are two sides of the same coin, Shizu-chan. There’s nothing that unusual about fantasizing about hatefucking your worst enemy once in a while.”

“Twice a week,” Shizuo correctly him. “Three or four times, sometimes. For _months_ , Izaya.” He draws his fingers back. “Why don’t you let me see your face when I fuck you?”

Izaya gusts a breath. “There’s nothing to see,” he grates out. “It’s just me using you to get myself off when I get horny. It could be anyone and it would be just the same.”

“Liar,” Shizuo says, and strokes up with a third finger angled together alongside the first two. Izaya’s eyes open wide on the strain, his breathing spills from him in a rush, and Shizuo feels him giving way, opening to the force of Shizuo’s touch as if he was just waiting to be asked. It’s as if Shizuo can feel the truth of Izaya’s unspoken admission in the flex of his thigh close against Shizuo’s stroking arm, in the heat of his body tightening around Shizuo’s fingers inside him. It seems impossible that he never saw it before, that he never felt this on any of the other times he pressed Izaya down to couple their bodies to one; it seems something he should have sensed the moment he opened the door on Izaya’s sultry smile that first time. “You care about me, Izaya.”

Izaya shakes his head without meeting Shizuo’s gaze, speaks without smoothing his voice from the tremor of strain Shizuo is working into him. “I don’t.”

“You want me,” Shizuo says, his words as inexorable as the stroke of his fingers, as the heat flushing Izaya’s cheeks towards red and trembling through the other’s thighs. “You want me to see you. Is that all it’s been all this time?” Izaya hisses in the back of his throat, the sound wordless but with force enough to speak to the hit Shizuo has just landed even before he closes his eyes like he’s trying to block himself from Shizuo’s gaze by hiding his own. “You just wanted me to pay attention to you? To want you like you want me?”

“You _do_ want me,” Izaya snaps, and lifts his head to look up at last and meet Shizuo’s gaze head-on. His cheeks are as dark as his trembling lips, his hair tangled around his head, but his eyes are brilliant, glowing with heat even as his brows draw together as if on hurt. “You can’t deny that much.” He lifts his hand from the fist he’s been making at the sheets to reach out and press his fingers against Shizuo’s shaft, tracing along the weight of it as he cradles the length against his palm. “Whatever else, you want to fuck me. You _love_ fucking me.” He presses up against Shizuo, grinding the force of his palm against the other, and Shizuo’s hips buck forward of their own volition to push harder against Izaya’s hand. Izaya finds a smile for the curve of his mouth as he tips his chin down to dip his lashes over his eyes. “Why don’t you give me what we both want, Shizu-chan, and worry about the rest later?”

“Fuck,” Shizuo groans, and pulls his fingers free of Izaya so fast the other’s smirk melts to a gasp and the focus in his eyes flickers with the surge of sensation. Shizuo doesn’t wait for Izaya to collect himself; he’s grabbing for the other’s wrist, closing slick fingers around Izaya’s arm and pulling the friction of the other’s palm away from him even as he looks down to the space remaining between their bodies. His cock is dark with heat, swollen so hard Shizuo can feel his heartbeat throbbing through the thick of it, but Izaya’s hard again too, his length rising from his hips in disregard of the pull of gravity or the come still drying against Izaya’s stomach. Izaya draws his knee from between Shizuo’s legs so he can brace a heel at the bed and frame Shizuo in the span of his thighs, and Shizuo presses to pin Izaya’s arm down and brace himself at the same time so he can tilt his hips and fit himself into the offer of Izaya’s open legs. His knee drags over the sheets, the top of his thigh presses close against the underside of Izaya’s, and as Shizuo fits the head of his cock against Izaya’s body Izaya shudders a breath and goes slack against the bed, his whole body relaxing as if ordered to it by the touch of Shizuo’s arousal against him. Shizuo pushes, and Izaya opens for him, and as they come together Izaya makes a raw, helpless sound in his throat, enough to pull Shizuo’s attention from the all-consuming focus he’s turning on watching himself sink into Izaya.

Izaya’s lips are parted on the shape of his moan, his mouth gone so soft with heat Shizuo doubts whether he could restrain himself even if he were to make the attempt. He’s making none at the moment; even his wrist pinned under Shizuo’s hold is slack, his arm heavy and unresisting, even to reach for support against the force of Shizuo filling him. His eyes are open but his head has dropped to the side, his hair tangling at the pillow as heat-haze eclipses the focus in his usual crystal-bright gaze, and for a moment Shizuo feels himself shudder with that fact before him, of Izaya knocked out of all coherency by the first movement of Shizuo thrusting into him.

“God,” Shizuo breathes. “Izaya.” His thighs flex, his hips moving to finish out the instinctive forward thrust of his body, and Izaya groans from the depths of his chest, his lashes falling shut over his eyes as Shizuo sinks deeper into him. His legs shift, tensing against Shizuo’s hips before going slack and resistanceless again, and Shizuo doesn’t have to look down to prove Izaya’s arousal, not when he can feel it in the reflexive tension clenching around the span of his cock. Shizuo can’t find his breath, can’t look away from the melted-soft surrender in Izaya’s face, and when he moves it is only to lift his hold on Izaya’s slack wrist to touch at the other’s head instead, to push the weight up and turn Izaya’s heavy-lashed gaze towards his own.

“Look at me,” Shizuo commands. His elbows press to the bed over Izaya’s shoulders, his arms bracket the other in place against the force of his hips; he catches Izaya’s head between both his hands, steadying his fingers against the sides of the other’s face and bracing his thumbs along the flushed heat staining Izaya’s pale skin dark with pleasure. Izaya whimpers in the back of his throat, shutting his eyes and turning his head against the force of Shizuo’s hold, but Shizuo just tightens his grip to greater emphasis as he frowns down at Izaya beneath him. “Izaya, _look at me_.” Izaya’s lashes lift halfway, his gaze struggling to focus on Shizuo’s features even while his mouth stays soft on the heat in his throat, and Shizuo growls satisfaction and rocks himself back by an inch from the grip of Izaya’s body.

“I want to see you,” he says, speaking directly to the haze in those crimson eyes, almost pressing the words to the soft of Izaya’s lips. “Like this. When I’m fucking you.” He takes a forward stroke, sinking almost entirely into Izaya this time as he watches Izaya’s lips part, watches shuddering heat break the tension in the other’s expression into absolute surrender. “When you’re coming under me.”

“Fuck,” Izaya says, and then Shizuo thrusts into him again and his words break into the heights of a moan that seizes the whole of his body tight on a shudder of tension. “ _Shizu-chan_.”

“Say my name,” Shizuo says. “Izaya. Call me my name.” He’s moving faster, the instinct of his partner’s arousal guiding him as much as the heat aching in his balls and flickering against his spine, and Izaya is shaking under him, his knees tightening against Shizuo’s hips and his spine curving against the sheets. He lifts a hand to Shizuo’s shoulder, reaching like he’s seeking for traction there, but his fingers slide up into Shizuo’s hair to cradle at the back of the other’s head, and when Shizuo thrusts forward again Izaya loses his breath in a jolt Shizuo can feel clench hard around the length of his cock. “Let me hear you.”

Izaya moans. “God,” he manages. His other hand comes up to reach for Shizuo’s back; his fingers drag along the other’s spine, scoring hard as they seek for purchase against sweat-slick skin. “Please.”

“You want me,” Shizuo tells him. “Like this. Like I want you. Like I’ve always wanted you.” He leans in closer, presses his mouth hard to the soft of Izaya’s lips; when Izaya groans heat Shizuo can taste the thrum of it on his tongue and down in the depths of his stomach. He draws back by an inch, pants for air over Izaya’s mouth.

“Tell me the truth,” Shizuo says. “I want to hear it, Izaya.” He drives forward, sharply enough to blow Izaya’s eyes wide open on the surge of heat that hits him; Shizuo can feel Izaya’s cock jerk against the flex of his stomach, straining towards inevitable release. “Before you come again.”

“Oh,” Izaya gasps. “Shizuo, I. I’m going... _ah_.”

“Tell me,” Shizuo demands. “ _Izaya_.”

“I love you,” Izaya blurts, as if the words are being forced from him, as if his restraint over them has fractured out of his control; and then, immediately, as his fingers tighten convulsively in Shizuo’s hair and his gaze struggles into clarity on the other’s face: “ _Shizuo_.”

Shizuo holds hard to Izaya’s head, fixing the other still as he meets his heat-dizzy gaze with absolute force. “I’m here,” he says, and brings his hips forward to sink himself entirely into the grip of Izaya’s body around him. Izaya’s mouth softens, the crease at his forehead melts away, and Shizuo stares straight into his eyes as the forced focus in them disintegrates under the uncontrollable wave of orgasm rushing through Izaya beneath him. Izaya’s thighs tighten, his fingers curl to fists, and when he comes the force of it pushes hard against Shizuo’s grip on him and seizes like a fist around the length of the other’s cock within his body. Shizuo gasps a breath, startled in spite of himself by the feel of Izaya coming around him, and his body jerks, latent strength surging forward to spend itself against Izaya as his own orgasm eclipses his attention to Izaya’s. Shizuo’s head tips forward, his face presses close to the thunder of Izaya’s heartbeat in his throat, and for a long, unmeasured span they do nothing but come against each other.

Izaya has gone slack again when Shizuo finds his way back to conscious awareness of the present. Izaya’s hand is still wound into Shizuo’s hair, and one of his legs is pressed around the back of Shizuo’s thigh as if to hold them together; but the strain at his shoulders has eased, and the hand that scratched heat against Shizuo’s back is offering no more than the weight of heavy fingers against sweat-damp skin. Shizuo pushes up against the bed, thinking vaguely to free Izaya from under the weight of his body, but when he looks to the other’s face Izaya looks too absolutely spent to be bothered with anything more than lying heavy across Shizuo’s bed. His cheeks are flushed under Shizuo’s lingering hold; Shizuo presses his thumb against the color, urging idly against it until Izaya blinks and draws himself back to the present with effort clear in his face. He meets Shizuo’s gaze directly, offering his expression without any attempt to hide it; it would seem a challenge in itself, were it not for the shadows of uncertainty so clear behind his lashes. Shizuo looks down at him for a long moment, considering the dark of Izaya’s lashes, and the set of his mouth, and the pleasure still straining his breathing, and then finally he takes a breath to speak himself.

“I think I love you too,” he says, speaking clearly to the quiet of the room. Izaya blinks and opens his mouth and Shizuo slides his hand down to cover whatever protest the other intends to offer. “I don’t know why else I’ve been doing this with you all this time.”

Izaya raises an eyebrow and Shizuo eases his hold on the other’s mouth. “You don’t consider regular sex to be sufficient persuasion?”

“No,” Shizuo says at once. “Not for me.” He drops his hand to the bed and leans in. “And not for you either, I think.” Izaya’s mouth shifts towards a frown, like he’s thinking of seeking the speech for protest, but Shizuo catches Izaya’s lips with his and the tension melts away, giving way to surrender so immediate it shows Izaya’s feelings as clearly as his face did. Shizuo can see why Izaya never kissed him, before, for the sake of keeping his feelings hidden; it’s still hard to fathom how he resisted this so long, when every slow slide of his tongue working into Izaya’s mouth shudders pleasant friction down the whole of Shizuo’s spine. Shizuo lingers longer than he meant to, lulled into distraction by the heat of Izaya’s lips against his, and when he draws back Izaya’s lashes are dark over his eyes again, his mouth soft on unthinking pleasure.

“You should stay,” Shizuo says. Izaya opens his eyes halfway to look up at Shizuo over him but he doesn’t speak, and Shizuo goes on talking. “Tonight. With me.”

Izaya’s eyebrow curves up again. “Are you getting sentimental with me?” he asks. “You don’t owe me anything, Shizu-chan, I’ve been getting exactly what I asked for from you. Nothing’s changed.”

“Not for you,” Shizuo says. “For me it has. I haven’t had so many confessions I can be cruel to someone who says they love me.” He draws his hand away from Izaya’s face to touch to his waist instead, to trail his fingers over the lithe body now stripped down to trembling surrender by the pleasure Shizuo brought in place of the violence that is all he has offered before. “I like you a whole lot better like this, anyway.”

Izaya’s mouth quirks at the corner, a flicker of a smile hardly seen before it’s lost again. “With your dick in me?”

Shizuo shakes his head. “Honest,” he says, and presses his mouth to Izaya’s to turn the mockery in the other’s throat into a whimper of sincerity instead.


End file.
